


Bittersweet

by 손 현숙 (safarikalamari)



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, Baking, Canon Era, Emotions, Falling In Love, First Meetings, Light Angst, M/M, Magical Realism, Mysticism, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2020-01-16 17:57:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18526675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/safarikalamari/pseuds/%EC%86%90%20%ED%98%84%EC%88%99
Summary: Race's life is as ordinary as they come and he doesn't expect it to change any time soon





	1. Chapter 1

A sharp breeze passed through the village, causing signs to sway as leaves whipped around sturdy structures. The houses and shops were defiant against the wind, but they did little to deter its path as everyone rushed in from the sudden cold.

On a street corner, a boy swept up the oncoming debris, turning up the collar of his coat as he did so. 

“Antonio, come back in. The wind is picking up,” his mother’s voice called from inside the building, white and decorated with blue overhangs. 

With a reluctant grunt, the boy - Antonio - did as he was told, broom tight in his grip as he struggled to close the door shut behind him. It was as if the wind was trying to plant itself in the building and Antonio set the broom down to shut the door with both hands. 

“Odd to have such weather this time of year,” his father commented as he wiped down the counters and Antonio went to hang up his coat. 

“What about the snowstorm in March?” Antonio asked, then grabbing the nearest apron and tying it on. 

“Of course,” his father chuckled. “A sharp mind you’ve got, my son.”

Antonio gave a smile before heading into the back, a large kitchen where his mother had taken root in front of the stove. 

“One last batch and then we can start on the pastries,” she smiled at Antonio. 

With a nod, Antonio went to finish up what his mother had started, the baking needing hardly any thought. For as long as he could remember, he had been taught all the tricks of the trade by his parents. Their bakery was famed even outside of their tiny village, but despite that, Antonio felt stuck in a loop. 

Wake up, bake, sleep. 

He loved baking, he couldn’t imagine himself elsewhere, but Antonio couldn’t help wonder if there was something else out there. New and exciting, ready to sweep him away in adventure. He’d come back to his village, of course, but right now, he wanted to step beyond the bridge, to see the world that awaited him. 

The soft tinkling of a bell signified their first customer and soon, Antonio didn’t have much else to think of beyond helping his parents run the counter and the ovens in the back. The rush seemed neverending and by the time customers dwindled down, Antonio was exhausted. 

“We need another set of hands,” his father chuckled and Antonio grinned back. 

All their lives it had been just the three of them, his father saying the same thing, but this time, Antonio could sense something different. 

“Wait, do you mean it?”

Tiredness crept in the corner of his father’s eyes and he stared intently at Antonio. “None of us are going to be young forever. When your mother and I are gone, you’ll need someone to help you run the bakery, no?”

Antonio had considered this a time or two, but he hadn’t expected it to spring up this soon. Yes, he was near eighteen, the bakery bequeathed to him long ago. Yet, all he could see in his mind was him and his family trudging along. A new person could upset that balance.

“Think about it,” his father set a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “If we can’t send you on your adventures, perhaps they can come here.”

With that, his father disappeared into the kitchen and Antonio was left with his swarming mind. His father knew him too well. 

As he peered into the kitchen, he could see his parents huddled, talking quietly to each other and he knew their decision had been made. At the very least, Antonio hoped his father’s words were true and he tried to settle his thoughts, knowing this was all for the best.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The wind brings with it an unexpected arrival

Antonio wasn’t imagining it. 

The wind was getting worse. Even the elders in the village were complaining, saying how they had never seen the north wind quite like this. Antonio hoped it wasn’t an omen of things to come, but it didn’t help that Elder Treymare only scared the villagers further with her cryptic talk. Antonio had tried to ask her what she meant, but with her failing mind, he was only left with more questions.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Antonio made his way back to the bakery, his eyes on the sky. Grey clouds sat above and the sun seemed years away. While he didn’t appreciate the heat of summer, he did miss the sight of an endless blue. 

Pushing the door open to the bakery, Race froze when he saw someone standing in the center, gazing at the walls of baked goods. They were slow to turn to him, eyes piercing as Antonio stood frozen where he was. 

Neither made a move to speak first. 

Antonio’s mind scrambled for something, anything, but all he could see was the boy in front of him. Possibly around the same age, his clothes old, but not tattered. His gaze seemed far away, while staring at Antonio’s very soul. 

“Oh, good, you’re back,” Antonio’s mother entered the room and the stalemate was broken. “This is Sean, he’ll be staying and working with us.”

“Staying?” Antonio caught a single word, frowning at his mother. 

“Yes, we do have that spare room and part of his pay will be his rent,” his mother replied, stern. Her eyes were a warning and Antonio knew better than to argue. 

“I go by Antonio..most of the time,” he introduced himself, holding out a hand. 

“Most of the time?” Sean questioned, taking Antonio’s hand.

For a moment, Antonio didn’t know what to say. Sean’s hand was warmer than expected and it was if their skin was melding together. Thoughts collided together, a confusion taking over every part of Antonio’s mind. All he really knew was that he didn’t want to let go, yet as if he had been poked, he jerked his hand away. 

“I prefer Race.”

Antonio’s mother sighed, shaking her head just a little. “A childhood nickname. I forget to use it.”

Antonio went to tell his mother to not worry, but Sean was quicker. 

“I usually go by Spot,” he shrugged and Antonio rolled the name around in his mouth. 

“Spot,” he said, noting how Sean - now Spot - stood straighter. 

“Race.”

The two finally grinned at each other and suddenly, things didn’t seem as bleak as they presented themselves to be.

* * *

Dinner with Spot was pleasant, much to the surprise of Race.

He engaged in the conversation, even making Race and his family laugh at several points. It was as if they had known him for much longer than a few hours. He was even generous enough to help clean up after dinner. 

As Race led him to the spare bedroom, he hoped he and Spot might even be friends with the way the evening was progressing. 

“Where are you from?” Race asked as he opened the door to the spare bedroom. 

His mother had gone above and beyond cleaning it up, making it almost too pristine. It was small, but comfortable with all Spot could ever need. 

“Here and there,” Spot shrugged, setting his bag down. “Never really did have a place called home.”

“Sounds amazing,” Race spoke to himself and his face grew red when Spot turned to him. 

“It can be,” Spot nodded. “Lonely though. You’re lucky to have your parents.”

Race had never thought about that before. A life without his parents was unimaginable and a wave of guilt overcame him. Spot maybe never had such a luxury.

“I’ve managed,” Spot answered, as if reading Race’s mind. “I’m glad to be here for now, however.”

Unsure of what to say, Race only managed out a nod before he cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll let you get settled in. We’ll show you how the bakery works tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” Spot smiled, gentle, and Race was almost tempted to stay. 

Instead, he left the room, turning on his heel before he all but ran to his bedroom. In the safety of his four walls, Race finally exhaled and hit his head against the door. He was making a fool of himself, but he didn’t know how to stop. In Spot, there was a need to say what was on his mind, as if Spot wouldn’t judge him for being honest. 

The thing was, Race didn’t want to say the wrong things, though he was sure he had done that ten times over. Falling onto his bed, Race stared at the ceiling, hoping the next days would be better and he wouldn’t be stumbling over his own feet.


	3. Chapter 3

Spot was a natural. 

He picked up on every task as if he had done this his whole life and Race was left to catch up in Spot’s wake. 

He wasn’t jealous, no, but he couldn’t help the twinge at the back of his mind when his parents smiled on at Spot with pride. He knew he was still their only son. Spot wasn’t going to take that away from him. 

“Where do I get the yeast?” Spot broke Race’s thinking and he jumped into action. 

There were still things he could show Spot, he was sure. Handing the container to Spot, he watched as Spot scooped out just the right amount, but then Spot hesitated. 

“Even or double ratio?” He asked suddenly and Race jumped a little. 

“You need sugar too,” Race replied, grabbing the tin. “Then, about a cup of water. For this recipe at least.”

“You already know what I’m making?” Spot teased and Race shook his head with a grin. 

“It’s seven. That’s when we make the honey bread.”

Spot made an o with his mouth, but something danced behind his eyes as he followed Race’s instructions. As soon as the yeast was prepared, Spot started on the rest of the dry ingredients and Race went back to his own project.

“You’ve been here your whole life?” Spot asked as he and Race worked around each other. 

Race nodded, a small sigh slipping out. He saw Spot quirk an eyebrow and he ducked his head, focused on his kneading. 

“The world is great, but sometimes the books make it too perfect,” Spot spoke, mixing the ingredients in his bowl. “Sometimes I wish I could be someone like you.”

“Like me?” Race lifted his head.

“Grounded,” Spot explained. “Not having to go whenever the wind calls.”

Race tilted his head, his eyes squinting in confusion. “You don’t have to follow nature, do you?”

Spot laughed a little at this, his movements halted for a moment. “What is nature really? Something greater than us? Or is it deep inside every person, dug out at the best and worst of times?”

Race didn’t know how to answer. Spot’s words didn’t make sense. Yes, he had felt the push of the wind, but he had always been able to push back. Whenever the elements threw their worst, there was always a way to protect himself from them. Here, Spot was talking as if he had centuries of the earth on his shoulders, a force that was greater than his own self will.

“I’m sorry,” Spot shook his head. “I’m being cynical.”

With that, he dumped the contents of his bowl on the board and that signified the end of the conversation. Race didn’t dare say more anyway for fear of Spot snapping at him. He could sense a tension in Spot’s eyes, his mind far away. 

“Do you think the bakery needs redecorating?” Race asked, in hopes of diffusing the situation. 

At this, Spot’s eyes lit up, his mouth quirking up just a little. “It’s nice, homey. But maybe it could use a more modern design.”

Race listened intently as Spot began listing off his ideas to really make the store pop. Some of it, Race had been trying to convince his parents of for months and he hoped two voices would make the changes come forth. 

Seeing Spot so animated, his excitement unchained, Race found himself drifting near Spot whenever he could. There was something to Spot, the way he changed like a fall day, how a room could light up or darken with his presence. 

It was a feeling Race had never experienced before and all he could do was smile as Spot talked on as if there were no cares in the world.

* * *

“You really seem to like him.”

Race looked up from the counter, a questioning stare at his mother. “He’s nice. He helps out, doesn't complain about a thing, he’s perfect for the bakery.”

“But what about you?” his mother prodded and Race furrowed his brows. 

“What do you mean?”

Race’s mother sighed, a smile dancing on her face. “Do you see him as a friend?”

Race shrugged. “Maybe.”

With the shake of her head, his mother left and Race stared at her back. He didn’t know what she was trying to get out of him. He had meant all he said about Spot, but Spot hadn’t been around for long. In fact, there was still so much Race didn’t know about Spot. Not that he pushed to find out more, but he had hoped Spot would share more of his past with time. 

“Oh,” he heard a gasp from the kitchen and he rushed in to see his parents and Spot.

In front of Spot was a tray of chocolates and Race’s parents already seemed to have indulged themselves.

“Just something I learned in my travels,” Spot explained, holding one out to Race.

Race took the offering with hesitant fingers, but as soon as he put it in his mouth, his joy was uncontained. It was sweet and smooth, unlike any other sweet Race had before and he closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the taste.

“This would bring in quite a crowd,” Race’s father spoke to himself, but the entire room heard and turned to him. “If you are up to the task. You could teach Antonio too.”

Race wasn’t sure about him being volunteered for Spot’s culinary adventures, but it was too late. Spot seemed eager, glancing between Race and his parents, waiting for the final approval. Race’s mother jumped in with glee and Race finally fell into his new fate. Snagging another piece of chocolate from Spot, Race blushed as he got a wink in return.

The bakery’s history was changing overnight and Race couldn’t help imagine how the village would take to this.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More secrets are revealed

Race hit his head on the wall for the fifth time that day, tempted to slide down to his feet. 

“Why is this so particular?” he groaned. “Even our breads don’t take this much skill.”

“It’s chocolate,” Spot sighed. “It has to be tempered. Not just thrown in and mixed.” Pulling Race back by the strings of his apron, Spot stationed him in front of the board and swept the chocolate mixture across the surface again. 

“What temperature?”

“I don’t remember,” Race admitted, watched as Spot carved perfect swirls into the hardening chocolate. 

With sagging shoulders, Spot continued with his meticulous work. “I’ll write it down for you. You’ll have to study.”

“Why can’t you just do this by yourself?” Race muttered, looking away when Spot glared at him. 

“I could. But it’d be faster with the both of us. Not to mention, you’d have a new skill on your hands.”

Race didn’t want to admit Spot was right. Not many people could say they could make chocolate and Race peered at Spot’s bag. 

“Do you just carry the ingredients around with you?”

“Until I find a place like your parents where they can order them for me.”

Race nodded, wondering how often Spot had shown his skill around the world for this sole purpose. Chocolate was a delicacy for his village, if his parents started buying ingredients in bulk, there was no telling what would happen. 

As if noticing Race’s gaze, Spot finished the last of his decorating before digging into his bag, pulling out a plate with intricate decorations. 

“Tell me what you see,” Spot said as he gave the plate a spin. 

The colors swirled around and Race couldn’t see anything at first. “Uh, blue? Fish? A lot of fish.”

“Hm, I think you’ll like this then,” Spot quickly set to work on another batch of chocolate, dipping dark beans in the melted mixture before setting them on a tray to harden. “Try one.”

Race picked up one, inspecting it before popping it into his mouth. The chocolate came to life with the bite of the coffee bean and Race choked back a noise of surprise. 

“Knew it,” Spot grinned, covering the rest of the beans in his collection. 

“All that from a plate?” Race watched as the plate slowed down, wobbling just a little. 

“I wasn’t wrong with you,” Spot grinned. “It’s the easiest way to tell everyone’s favorite chocolate.”

Race blinked, frowning a little. “Surely there’s easier ways.”

“Hm, no,” Spot stated with simplicity and Race was left to give him a quizzical look. “You’ll see tomorrow.”

Race held his tongue, not that he would’ve had the chance to say much else as Spot pulled him back into the chocolate making. Instructions were thrown at him left and right, but by the day was over, Race’s confidence had grown. 

He couldn’t wait for the bakery’s introduction of Spot’s chocolate and giving the plate another spin, Race laughed to himself all while wondering what Spot himself saw in the swirls of color.

~

It was mid-afternoon by the time Spot brought out the plate.

Race had been fidgeting all morning, waiting for Spot’s reveal, but Spot had stayed in the kitchen for most of the time. It had been busy and Race jumped to the conclusion that perhaps Spot was shy. 

Once Spot had set the plate out, he went over to the other counter, pulling off the tablecloth that had kept his display of chocolates covered. 

“The plate is best done when there’s only one or two customers,” Spot explained, his eyes honed in on Race. “As strange as it seems, there really is a method to all of this.”

Race went to nod, but it was then the front bell jingled and Race stood at attention. Then, he saw the familiar faces of his friends, his face breaking into a smile. 

“You got out early today,” Race commented, already putting together their orders. “Gian was in a good mood?”

The one nearest to him, Blink, shook his head. “The worst mood really. I think he just wanted to drink.”

Race raised his eyebrows, but said nothing, then remembering Spot’s presence in the room. 

“Oh, Mush, Blink, this is Spot. My parents hired him to help with the bakery.”

With bright grins the three introduced themselves, shaking hands. 

“That why we haven’t seen much of you or your family?” Mush teased, his gaze trailing down to the array of chocolates. 

“Could say the same for you,” Race poked back, setting his friends’ orders on the counter. “You two haven’t been stopping by.”

“Winter season,” Blink shrugged and Race knew that sentiment all too well. 

There was no reply from Mush and all attention was on him as he stared at the display. 

“Come over here,” Spot motioned, leading the way to where the plate was. 

Everyone followed, the room in terse silence as Spot spun the plate. Race’s excitement was rising and he glanced at his friends. 

“Tell me what you see.”

At first, Mush and Blink looked as if they didn’t know what to say. Their faces were in tight concentration, drifting into momentary confusion as their mouths moved with no sound. 

“A horse,” Blink spoke first. “...and a woman with red hair.”

Mush tore his gaze away, frowning at Blink before turning back to Spot. “Water. Dark waves.”

With a spring in his step, Spot went over to the chocolates, picking out two different ones and holding them out to Mush and Blink. They each took their respective piece, eyeing it with slight suspicion as Spot looked on. 

“Yours has a hint of spice, Blink,” Spot looked at him with a stoic, challenging stare. “Just enough to carry with the sweetness. Mush, yours has blueberry syrup.”

The boys caved in to the tasting, both struck into silence as they chewed on their pieces. A small squeak left Mush while Blink hummed in appreciation. 

“Your favorites,” Spot nodded with a grin.

Both Mush and Blink jumped into asking how much for the chocolates and Race could feel his eyes growing wider by the second. Spot knew them both in an instant, at least their tastes, leaving Race to wonder what else Spot could tell.

“Gratis. Just this once,” Spot winked at the two and the boys held their chocolates close to them. 

They blundered out their thanks, hastily paying for their usual baked goods before rushing out of the shop with a promise to visit much sooner than before. A tinge of jealousy hit Race then, as if Spot had taken his friends from him. 

“They’ll be visiting a bit more I think,” Spot broke into Race’s thoughts. “Maybe it’ll give the three of you the time you deserve with each other.”

Race blinked at Spot’s words, his head cocked to the side. It seemed too obvious and yet just enough of a vague tone hung on the edges, leaving Race’s mind in a flurry. If Spot was trying to take charge of Race’s life, it wasn’t a bother, but at the very least Spot could’ve asked first. Then again, it wasn’t as if Spot knew a single thing about Race beyond their few exchanges. It could be all coincidence. 

“Okay,” was all Race could say in response as he still tried to work through what Spot had said. 

The rest of the day continued in a blur, Race trying to catch every one of Spot’s predictions while still helping the regulars with their orders. Spot hadn’t been wrong once and Race was awestruck every time. 

Spot had a gift, that much Race was sure of, and all he wanted to know was why Spot had chosen his village to share it with.


	5. Chapter 5

Race should’ve noticed sooner.

He could feel the stares on his back, the whispers amongst the villagers as he perused through the square. 

Race did his best to ignore it, but his stomach churned at the words that caught his ear. Cursed, suspicious, heathen, it seemed that the elders of the village didn’t trust Spot within an inch of their life. 

Yet, the bakery was flourishing, everyone seemed to love Spot’s chocolates. If anything, the village should’ve been happy, not distrusting because Spot had come into town on his own. 

Race bit his tongue, not wanting to start a fight. Yet, he needed, had to prove them wrong. 

“He’s a kind soul,” Race interrupted the murmurings and the elders paused. “He wouldn’t think the worst of anyone like you seem to do.”

Receiving nothing but glares, Race found his business finished and headed back to the bakery, his heart heavy. Spot was wonderful company, a talent like no other. He didn’t deserve rumors that could destroy his reputation.

When Race entered the bakery, he was surprised to see Mush and Blink at the counter, chatting with Spot as they held onto their mugs. All three greeted Race jovially, lifting Race’s spirits in an instant.

“You’re next,” Spot grinned disappearing into the back. 

Race raised an eyebrow, following Spot to put the market’s findings away. As he shoved away bags of flour and sugar, Race watched Spot when he could, the swirl of his spoon, the way he poured dark brown liquid into a cup. 

“Hot chocolate,” Spot explained, taking Race’s hat and jacket from him as he put the cup in his hands. 

The warmth filled Race immediately and he was eager to take a sip, but the steam told him to hold his patience. 

“Something’s on your mind,” Spot lingered by the door, his arms crossed. 

Race shook his head, holding the cup close to his face in hope of the steam hiding his true feelings. 

“Not many people take to me like your family and friends have,” Spot began, glancing out the small window that viewed into the main part of the bakery. “Either I get driven out or I’m gone before it happens.”

Race stepped forward, words jumbling in his mind. “I...I like you. I wouldn’t drive you away.”

Spot smiled at this, his head shaking a little. “I know.”

Before Race could say more, Spot went back out to Mush and Blink, leaving Race with no choice but to follow. He put on a smile for his friends, staying on the other side of the counter as a friendly conversation started up again. Even though Race was starting to enjoy himself, he couldn’t help but watch Spot. He hoped Spot’s smile was genuine, his laughter real. 

If rumors had followed Spot his entire life, he handled it well, seemingly unbothered by the thoughts of others. Race found himself just a little envious, shaming himself for caving in so easily to the elders’ superstitions. 

Spot was so much more than the villagers could imagine and Race held that close to his heart as the four friends enjoyed the rest of the day together.

* * *

The day the letter arrived, there was a harsh wind and the bakery was quiet. 

“Can you handle the bakery by yourself?” Race’s mother asked, glancing between the letter and her son. 

“I have Sean,” Race reassured. “I may get Michael and Louis to help too.”

A smile of relief passed over his mother’s face, but with the arrival of his father, bags packed, attentions were turned elsewhere. 

“We should be back in a week.” Race’s father then went through every instruction Race had heard since birth, nodding along to frantic energy of his parents. 

He had never known his great-grandmother personally, but for his parents to be gone for a week, Race knew there were bigger matters at hand. While his family wasn’t living in poverty, any little bit helped and he hoped his parents would get a fair share. 

Race and Spot helped load up the carriage, waving goodbye as Race’s parents headed off. Race heaved a sigh, but when an arm wrapped around his shoulders, he jumped. 

“We’ll be okay, they’ll be okay,” Spot reassured and Race couldn’t help give a small smile. 

“Thank you,” Race nodded, pressing a little into the touch. 

Spot held Race a little longer before the two headed back inside, preparing what they could for the days ahead. There was little talk as they baked and cooked, but Race didn’t know what to say either. 

They were on their own, a slight shiver creeping up Race’s spine. All his life, he had wanted nothing more than to travel away without his parents, but now it appeared much more daunting. Race was beginning to realize how little he knew, how lost he was without his parents’ guidance. 

“Perhaps when the weekend rolls around, we’ll take Blink and Mush up on their offer,” Spot broke the silence.

Glancing up from his kneaded dough, Race could only nod his head as his mind swarmed. Spot was already taking charge, a confidence Race only dreamed of as he worked his chocolate mastery. He met Race’s eyes, giving a soft smile before focusing back on his work. 

All Race could do was watch. 

Every little movement was mesmerizing, the chocolate spinning off the spoon in intricate patterns and Race stepped over to take a closer look. 

“My mother called these webs,” Spot looked at Race briefly. “They add just enough texture to ice cream, cookies, whatever you want to add this to.”

Race held the questions on his tongue. Spot had mentioned family once before, but enough for Race to know he didn’t have any left.

“She left a few winters ago. Never knew my father. We had been traveling around the world by then.” 

It was as if Spot was a fountain of knowledge with the way Race’s curiosity grew. With every word, Race found himself yearning for more answers, but he didn’t want to scare Spot off. Rudeness was a whole other matter and Race did his best to not blurt out his first thoughts. 

“There’s not much else to me,” Spot shrugged, his eyes shining. “Bastard child, chocolatier prodigy, world traveler, ostracized, I’m easily condensed into one of those four.”

“But those say nothing for your character,” Race finally gave in. “It doesn’t say how patient you are, your generosity and understanding…”

Before Race knew it, he was talking without his mind, speaking of Spot’s greatness. It wasn’t until Spot’s eyes began to widen that Race could hear himself talk and he clamped his mouth shut, the heat rising to his face.

Shuffling away, Race went back to his bread, mercilessly kneading it in hopes of deterring Spot’s stare. 

“Thank you.”

Race kept his eyes on the dough, a mumbled noise leaving him as he prepared the bread for the oven. 

“You’re all that and more, Race,” Spot’s voice reached Race’s ears and he paused, staring into the oven. “I’m glad I’ve gotten to spend time with you.”

Closing the door, Race looked at Spot over his shoulder, his body ready to bolt in an instant. He couldn’t say what it was about Spot’s expression, but it was as if his fears were melting away and all he could feel was certainty. 

He wanted to walk over to Spot then, to take him in his arms, but Race stayed where he was. For all he knew, Spot wasn’t one for physical touch and he closed up the oven, thankful for when a customer stepped in so his thoughts could be distracted once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will try to get to comments soon ;v;


	6. Chapter 6

The first few days went by better than expected. 

With Blink and Mush’s help the bakery was running smoothly and Race almost forgot that his parents weren’t there. After his friends left for the day, Race busied himself in the kitchen, creating his own recipe for a new kind of croissant. 

“Mind if I join you?”

Race smiled as Spot entered the room, tying an apron on and Race shook his head. “I’d love the company.”

The two shared a lingering glance before Spot set to his own work. Soon, the room was filled with scents and sounds, Race and Spot chatting often.

As Race set the dough aside to rise, he drifted over to Spot’s table, watching him dip different fruits into the chocolate. 

“What’s your favorite?” Race asked, watching Spot swirl a raspberry around. 

“Secret,” Spot grinned and Race rolled his eyes. 

“Will you let me know if I’m right?” Race readied himself to guess and Spot shrugged, continuing with his work. 

“Okay,” Race nodded, thinking of the most intricate concoctions in his head. “Lavender and sugar crystals.”

Spot seemed pleased by this answer, but he shook his head as he gave the bowl another stir. “I do appreciate that combination though.”

“Rose petals and almonds?”

Again Spot shook his head and a small laugh followed as Race groaned. Again and again, he tried different combinations, yet none of the answers were correct. 

“I’ve gone through them all,” Race sighed, leaning on the counter and propping his head on his hands. “Do you just not like chocolate then?”

“You’ve missed some obvious ones,” Spot teased, dipping a strawberry into the chocolate and shaking off the excess. “Here.”

Holding the chocolate-covered strawberry out to Race, he motioned for Race to take it, his head tilted as he waited. With his mischievous side bursting forth, Race merely leaned over, taking a bite from the strawberry as Spot held onto it. 

Spot’s cheeks grew a tinge darker and he coughed into his shoulder. “Can’t leave the rest of it,” he muttered and Race followed Spot’s words. 

He worked his way through the rest of the strawberry as Spot held onto it, letting his lips brush against Spot’s fingertips. When he had eaten all he could, Race watched with interest as Spot set the strawberry top to the side and licked his fingers. 

The room was charged, the ties on Race’s apron tighter than they had ever been before as he fell into Spot’s embrace. Their lips crashed together, Spot’s arms wrapped around Race as Race held onto the collar of Spot’s shirt. Nothing and everything coursed through Race’s mind, their mouths moving together as if they had been lovers for years. 

They broke apart with a gasp, a slight pant in the breaths as they searched each other’s eyes. Race had imagined what falling in love would be like, but it was nothing compared to how his knees shook under Spot’s stare. 

Reluctantly, the two stepped apart, but their hands remained on each other as neither knew what to say. 

“We should…” Race cleared his throat. “We should get dinner ready.”

He pulled himself from Spot’s hold, running to the upstairs apartment as his mind screamed at him. The croissants were the last thing on his mind and Race slammed his bedroom door shut, already jumping to the worst of conclusions.

* * *

Race didn’t feel like eating. 

He sat at the table for as long as he could, but soon, it became too much and he rushed to the sanctuary of his bedroom. Yes, he wanted to talk to Spot, but he didn’t even know where to start. 

A knock on his door made his stomach twist and Race waited for Spot to say something first. 

“I want to talk to you. Please.”

Steeling himself, Race opened the door to see Spot wringing his hands, his face wrought with worry. 

“Did…? What we did earlier, I apologize. I should’ve asked you first or...maybe shouldn’t have done it at all.”

At these words, Race panicked and he jumped in. 

“What do you mean? I was the one who kissed you. I thought perhaps…”

The two boys looked at each other before falling into small laughter. Spot’s hand reached out to cup Race’s face and Race fell into the touch easily. 

“This is fine then?” Spot asked in a hushed tone, his face coming closer and closer to Race’s. 

“This is perfect,” Race whispered as he tugged Spot in by his shirt. 

The two melded into each other, the embrace even more intense than their first as they gripped onto the other like it was their last days. Soon, their longer kisses turned into small pecks and short breaths, whispered terms of endearment. 

Race’s heart was above the clouds and he swore to himself he would never let Spot go.


	7. Chapter 7

The village was bustling in preparation for the Solstice festival. 

Race’s family was over their heads with orders but with the help of Blink and Mush, they had made a formidable team. They were on their way to the square with baskets of goods, all chatting and laughing away. 

Spot himself was quiet, but whenever Race looked at him, they exchanged soft smiles and Race’s heart was put at ease. In the presence of Race’s parents, the villagers welcomed Spot with open arms. It didn’t fool Race however, noting the elder’s glares, the whispers in the corners. 

Race took a deep breath in and grabbed Spot’s wrist as the music began. Spot’s eyes flashed as the two became the center of attention, but the music kept going, others hesitating to join in. Spot took the lead then, the two falling into a lively dance, oblivious to those around them. Laughing and warm, Race wanted everyone to soak in his joy and it seemed to work. Blink and Mush followed them into the dance as well as a few of the younger couples. Before long, most of the villagers were clapping and dancing, so distracted in one another that Race found a chance to place a kiss on Spot’s cheek.

Spot blushed as he tugged Race in close and the two spun with each other as the music began to slow. It was only the applause of the villagers that pulled them back, Race clearing his throat as he followed Spot off to the side. 

“They love you, they’re just shy,” Blink nudged Spot as he and Mush sat next to the happy couple. 

“Tell that to Elder Treymare,” Race motioned with his head to a hobbling woman who grumbled with every step. 

The friends chuckled and it was then Race felt Spot’s hand tangle up with his own. Spot was looking straight ahead, but Race hoped Spot could see his smile as he sat just a little closer. If Blink and Mush noticed, they were polite enough to not say so. 

As the festival wore on, the boys relished in the evening until they were stumbling back to their homes with only the streetlamps to light their way. 

“Thank goodness we’re closed tomorrow,” Race sighed, his cheek pressing into Spot’s shoulder.

“We’ll still come for chocolate, don’t you worry,” Mush muttered and a small yelp left him when he tripped over an uneven stone. 

The four took hold of each other until Blink and Mush went their own way, Spot and Race theirs. 

“It’s cold,” Race sighed as a sharp wind hit his face. 

Spot didn’t reply, his only response an arm snaking its way around Race’s waist. 

“I’m so glad you came here, Spot,” Race continued talking, the bakery now in sight. “My life was so dull without you. I love my friends, but you brought so much more to our village.”

“Did I?” Spot said, just above a whisper. 

Race paused and stared at Spot’s face. His eyes were serious, his mouth a slight frown. It worried Race, knowing the light wasn’t fooling him. 

“What’s wrong?”

Spot turned to Race, a gentle smile forming on his face. If Race was being honest, it almost seemed forced. 

“Nothing. I’m just thinking about you.”

Before Race could reply, Spot pulled him into a deep embrace, the two sighing when their lips met. Race threw his arms around Spot’s shoulders and his knees weakened when Spot held him tightly. When their kiss ended, Spot rested his head on Race’s shoulder, the two listening to the sound of their breathing. 

“Should get to bed,” Spot spoke up again, leading Race to the few short steps to the bakery. 

Race nodded, following Spot’s lead up the narrow staircase. The floorboards creaked, the two bumped the entire length of the hallway, but neither wanted to go to their own room. 

“Please,” Race held out his hand, his stomach dropping a little when Spot stayed where he was. 

Then, Spot took Race’s hand in his own and the two disappeared into Race’s room where they believed there was no one else but themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the writer's block is real y'all
> 
> [Tumblr](http://safarikalamari.tumblr.com)


	8. Chapter 8

Something wasn’t right.

Race couldn’t put his finger on it, wanting to blame the change of the seasons. Nonetheless, Spot was distant. Race had thought them something more, lovers even, but Spot hardly held a conversation, his focus on his work. When Race would try to kiss him, Spot would edge out of the way, leaving Race with an empty space in front of him. 

He wanted to shout and cry, but with his parents and friends constantly around, Race was stuck in his own head. He hoped Spot would catch on, come visit him at night to explain himself. They hadn’t spent a night together since the festival and Race hated how empty his bed felt. 

“Antonio,” Race’s mother beckoned him and Race went to see what she needed. 

One basket later, Race and Spot were off to make a delivery, the atmosphere stifling. Race hoped for some relief once the package was dropped off, but with Spot’s eyes on his back, Race couldn’t take it anymore. Grabbing Spot by his sleeve, he pulled Spot along until they were on the outskirts of the village, tucked in a thicket of trees. 

“What’s happened?” Race’s voice trembled, the basket falling to the ground. “Did I do something wrong? Did we–”

Race’s mind fractured and he didn’t stop the sobs wracking his body. Tears fell down his face, but Race didn’t rush to hide them. He wanted Spot to see this. 

When Spot’s arms wrapped around him, Race continued to cry into Spot’s shoulder, refusing to grab hold of him. He was angry and tired, just wanting answers. 

“You didn’t do anything. We didn’t,” Spot sighed. “It’s...it’s me. Do you remember what it was like before I came to the village?”

Race furrowed his brows, puzzled by Spot’s words. “What do you mean? It was boring, cold.”

“Cold,” Spot repeated and Race pulled back to look at Spot’s face. “A harsh wind, wasn’t it?”

Wind wasn’t an uncommon thing, but here was Spot acting like this was something unusual. 

“And the night of the festival, Race. Bitter wind.”

“What...what are you trying to say?” Race shook his head. He couldn’t understand why Spot wasn’t giving him a straight answer. 

Spot swallowed, his eyes flickering down. “Maybe it’s a family curse, maybe it’s a blessing, but I have to go where the North Wind does. I can’t ever stay in one place.”

“Why not?” Race’s stomach churned. “It’s a wind. You’re a person.”

“I wish it was that simple,” Spot laughed softly. “But if I don’t follow it, I fear what the consequences will be.”

Race stepped back from Spot, his hidden anger rising to the surface. “Like falling in love.”

“Race, you know that’s not what I mean,” Spot huffed. “Before I lost my mother, she told me tales, numerous tales of those who went against their nature.”

Cowardice. It was the one word that ran through Race’s mind. He could see a fear in Spot’s eyes, but he couldn’t help but see it as selfishness. If this had been the case all along, then Race wished Spot had kept to himself, isolative as he seemed to suggest his life was. 

“If it’s in your blood, then you have to go.” Race looked around at the trees, the ground, anywhere but Spot. “I’m sorry you feel so trapped.”

Spinning on his heel, Race headed back to the village, not bothering to check if Spot was following. When he arrived back at the bakery, Race lied about an upset stomach and shut himself away in his room, crying himself to exhaustion.

* * *

Race was warm and he shot up from his sleeping position to see Spot lying on the bed next to him. 

“Can I tell you a story?” Spot asked, but it was almost pleading, his hand reaching out to Race. 

With a reluctant sigh, Race laid back on the bed, keeping his focus on the ceiling. When Spot reached over, taking hold of his hand, Race let him. 

“Once there was a boy and his mother. They were happy, traveling the world, sharing their skills with everyone they met,” Spot began, his voice a gentle whisper. “The boy never felt lonely, never felt unloved. Then, one night, he saw his mother crying. Amongst her whispered sobs, he heard her cursing her own son, cursing the wind.”

Race dared to glance at Spot, but was met with closed eyes. 

“He kept her secret, but things changed. He could see the pain in her expressions, how each day, there was a distance between them. It was a sunny morning when the boy woke up alone.”

Spot fell silent, his eyes blinking open and he stared into Race’s. 

“He didn’t know what to do except follow in her footsteps. Every single step.”

There was a weight on these words, a painful familiarity. Race brought their hands between them, watching Spot over his knuckles. 

“And he became afraid after that. From his mother’s warnings to what he saw with his own eyes, he taught himself the world was cold, just like the wind.”

Spot trailed off then and Race took a deep breath in before he began to say what was on his mind. 

“I’m not going to say I understand, but I’m not going to force you to stay,” Race confessed. “Just keep me in your heart, that’s all I ask.”

“I’ll never forget you.”

Their kiss was short, but the same passion was behind it. Race steeled himself, still trying to work through the little Spot had told him. For all that had happened, Race wasn’t filled with regret and instead he curled into Spot, hoping for just one more day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello darkness my old friend

**Author's Note:**

> Some of the elements in the story are taken from the movie Chocolat
> 
> Don't worry. I don't support certain actors that are in that movie. I just like the overall magical feel that surrounds the storyline.
> 
> [Tumblr](http://safarikalamari.com)


End file.
